Today
by Queen of the Dark Knight
Summary: There are days when Tony Stark cannot stand on his own two feet. This is one of them. One-sided Superhusands (or so we think). Warnings for poorly described action.


**A/N: This is my first Avengers fic! (*fangirl squee*). It is sort of Superhusbands (Tony/Steve), but it is one-sided (as far as we know). Reviews are welcome, even if they are the hating variety. Irregardless, here is *drum roll please*, for your entertainment, a Superhusbands fic from QDK, "Today". Please enjoy! **

**Note: I do not own Marvel. I am not Tony Stark or Bruce Wyne, and cannot buy a company when ever I feel like it. I will possibly inflict feels on you. Please alert your doctor of any negative side effects and stop reading immediatly (or when ever you feel like it). I apoligize for any mistakes/things you like. I have seen the movies/some of the animated series, but have not read the comics and do not claim to be an expert in the relm of Marvel. You have been forwarned.**

There are days when Tony Stark cannot walk upright. Most days, when he came out of whatever battle the Avengers had just won, he'd smile and laugh, give high-fives to Clint and Banner and nod at Natasha. But the most crushing and uplifting part of their hazy post-win euphoria was the simple "Stark" he received from Captain America. On days like those, he'd nod back "Rogers." The moment seemed to hang between them like taffy or bubble gum when it is stretched out. For Tony at least.

Then there are the days that Tony doesn't remember. Where he was too drunk to know what was going on, but not drunk enough to finally end it all. Or the days where all he remembers is working on the suit or the arc reactor or on one of his other projects, and then Pepper will come down to the lab and tell him he hasn't eaten or slept in days. But at some point Pepper stopped coming down to remind him to eat, and no one else lives in Tony's mansion who isn't made of metal anymore. Tony lives there. But the metal is a part of him now. In his heart and his veins.

And then there are days like today. Days when Tony can't stand up on his own two feet. Days like this happen when he remembers the words "you're not a hero" and the ones he thought he had buried far enough down into his psyche that they would never rise to the forethought of his mind. But they had found Cap, and with him all the scorn and neglect of Tony's (never) forgotten childhood had risen as well. And when these words got too loud, he'd take the Iron Man suit- his real body, his only useful body- and take out some bad guys. It didn't matter what organization they were from or who they were loyal to. They all received the same beat down from the metal fists. And when that didn't work, Tony would fly to a place in Afghanistan and remove the suit before entering a certain cage. He knew that place well. He was never sure if his overactive mind had memorized the layout while he was a captive there or if his body had learned it over the many times he returned, but the cave was his sacred place and the only metal he brought in their was the pieces trapped in his body. He'd pause briefly at a small patch of wall that he imagined was slightly darker than the rest of the stone. But he would continue until he reached their cell. Where him and Yinsen worked on their plan. Where Yinsen planted the seed that sprouted into Iron Man. Into a hero. Where he could remind himself why he is a fighter. Why he doesn't just pull the trigger. There was no Pepper, there was no Rhodey left for him. There was nothing for him to live for but this mission an old fool had taught him. Some days he just needed to remember that. Today was a day like that.

But something changed today. Maybe he had visited too often. Tony didn't care. He had exited the cave, reaffirmed in his decision that the world might still have need of him for something other than the next cool gadget, and his world exploded in fire.

By the time the bomb had gone off, he had most of his armor on his body. His legs and arms were covered, but the chest plating had yet to unfurl and encompass him when the blast hit. When he regained consciousness he felt wet tracking down his sides. Wetness and warmth. His ears rang, and his vision blurred, and everything felt so damn far away. Fuzzy. Cut-off.

Had his attackers not waited for him leave, instead hitting him before he could enter his alter, Tony may have just laid there, slowly bleeding out. He might not have forced JARVIS to close the suit, despite potential damages to the structure. He might not have forced JARVIS to fly him back to New York. He reached the city before the suit ran out of power. But had his attackers not waited for him to leave, he might not have dragged his weakening body inside his mobile, iron prison through the streets and up stair cases, because JARVIS _was_ right, the structure was damaged and the suit would not relinquish his body. So what if he staggered against the wall of the hall before a simple, unassuming white door. So what if he could barely lift his arm to let his hand fall against the wood once, in more of a deep _Thump_ instead of a knock. So what if he panicked when no one answered that single plee. So what if he smiled weakly when the door was finally opened, and salvation arrived. He had the face plate on after all.

Because even Tony Stark knows that there are times when all the metal and all the computer programs in the world can't help you survive. And he knows what- or who- he needs when he has nothing left to clutch at life with other than a mission given by an old fool, and a dream handed given from father to son.

And at least the, "Oh God, Tony" is better than a respectful "Stark".


End file.
